Between Two Worlds: Notes from Nigeria

A journal entry from my first days in Nigeria last winter after two decades away. It touches on themes of connection and alienation.

12/29/24

Today (and yesterday) has been punctuated with feelings of deep connection and alienation. I had a profound conversation with my father yesterday and today.

To begin with yesterday, I asked him “how old were you when your mother died? You were young, right?” He went on to say that he was about 16 years old. His mother died at 42 abruptly from a mysterious illness that took her life in 2 days. My dad spent her last days with her. She was not an educated woman and that restricted her opportunities in life. She wanted more for her children. She told my dad that she worried about who would pay school fees for his siblings if she passed. My father responded, “I want you to survive this, but if it is in God’s will to take you then I will take care of the family.”

Learning of this promise made things finally make sense. Growing up I often felt that my dad invested too much into his family back in Nigeria and not enough to his kids in America. However, now I had more empathy for the internal struggle he was going through and understood why he made certain decisions. Our conversation today was sparked by him reading my most recent essay, “When Flight Meant Freedom.” We talked about all the ways in which we are similar, and it felt like a significant shift in our relationship.

Later, we left the hotel in Enugu about half an hour ago to visit some relatives. Upon coming outside, I noticed the warm and thick air. I gazed at the nearby buildings to take everything in. It feels so strange to be in an environment in which I know so little about.

We later arrived at the relative’s house and were welcomed into the compound by an opening gate. The person that let us in was a woman with braids, a slender figure and average height. She had a calm, gentle and respectful demeanor. I said thank you to her. I honestly don’t know who she is. Could she be a family member that I should know? The thought of asking her name (and who she was to me) brought about a subtle sense of discomfort, so I didn’t ask.

When I walked in the home, I noticed the ceiling was tall and vaulted, similar to that of my previous hotel rooms in Lagos and Enugu. I tried to take in as much of the environment as I could to get my bearings, but I can’t help feeling like a newborn baby trying to understand how they fit into their new place.

I met another relative that I don’t know the name of. She is an older woman and said “Mike” in excitement when she saw me. I feel so awkward meeting all of these family members because they all know who I am, and I don’t know who they are. Part of me feels guilty that I met these people (albeit, more than 20 years ago when I was 5) and don’t remember them. Furthermore, there is the fact that these people are related to me, so I feel external pressure to relate to them and make a good impression.

A word that keeps running through my mind is alienation. I don’t understand any of the dialect that they are using. My feeble attempt to speak what little Igbo I know was met with the following comment from my dad’s younger sister “that is not our dialect. That is central Igbo.” It is interesting reading back that last sentence, one can see the distance I feel between my relatives. Instead of saying my aunty, I chose my dad’s younger sister. It is interesting how one’s writing really can be a window into their soul.

Michael C. Onu